Away With The Breeze
by venomoxide
Summary: Two people meet one day, fate twisting together in a painful and beautiful way. Through love and war, they still manage to send a letter. Songfic - Travellin' Soldier, AU, Slash, AmeriCan.


**So this is a fanfiction I wrote for a contest at a con I'm going to this weekend. The pairing is Matthew and Alfred from APH and it's a song fiction, using the song Travellin' Soldier by the Dixie Chicks. Warnings are in the description.**

_Two days past eighteen  
He was waiting for the bus in his army green  
Sat down in a booth in a cafe there  
Gave his order to a girl with a bow in her hair_

The sun was blinding that day, sizzling along with the buzz of the heat against pure black asphalt. It stayed put, high up in the perfectly clear Saskatchewan sky. It was mid-summer here in Canada and it seemed and felt like there wasn't a drop of water to show for it. Alfred was sweating – bad. The stiff, heavy laden uniform he had been issued wasn't helping much. And to think, he still had another five hours to kill before their bus left for the next stop.  
Squinting, he took off his glasses to wipe his brow, perspiring up a storm. Glancing around, his eyes skimmed past the soldiers that were with him, some he knew and some had he had just met. The only reason they were here was to stop and pick up the Canadian troops who were joining their regiment. After Saskatchewan, it was over to Manitoba and then they were off to a different country completely.  
He didn't mind it much, the travelling. In fact, it was actually nice in a way. Despite the steady unease growing inside of him as each stop brought him closer to the war front, he found himself experiencing more than he ever had in all the seventeen years and one day he had spent in Alabama.  
His eyes continued to wander, taking in the small town of Rosetown. It wasn't much different from America. They had most of the same stores, general looking farmland, and a small diner. Perking up as he something caught his attention, Alfred put his glasses back on, making sure he wasn't seeing things. Indeed, about fifty meters away, there was a quaint looking diner, styled to look like it was from the fifties and suddenly, the blonde American felt like he had died and gone to heaven. A diner meant a nice, cool glass of Coke and a freshly made hamburger – just what he needed.

The bell above the door jangled as he pushed it open, immediately greeted by the scent of meat cooking and fresh bread. It made his stomach growl and mouth water; yes, this was exactly what he needed. There were only a few other people in the diner, most of them locals. A few glanced up, curiously staring at his uniform with looks of respect or confusion. He sat down in a booth, setting his backpack down beside him with a long sigh. It was sufficiently cooler in here than outside, thanks to the small air conditioner in the far back corner. He had never been more grateful for a piece of technology than now.  
A few moments later, a menu was set down in front of him, along with a glass of iced water, dripping with condensation.  
"Welcome to 'Dine for a Dime!' What can I get you today?" Alfred followed the voice, looking up to see a friendly looking server with a notepad in hand. The boy had blonde hair, almost similar to his own, that was clipped to the side by a small bow and bright violet eyes that seemed to never end.  
He returned the smile, picking up the menu to hand it back to the boy with a small laugh. "I'll have your best hamburger with everything on it and an ice cold Coke," he paused, squinting to read the servers nametag, "Please and thank you, Matthew."

Matthew blinked a few times, surprised that he had known what he wanted before even looking at the menu. He took the menu and nodded, scribbling down the simple order before saying, "I'll be right back!"

_He's a little shy so she gives him a smile_  
_And he said would you mind sittin' down for a while  
And talking to me,  
I'm feeling a little low  
She said I'm off in an hour and I know where we can go_

It hadn't even been fifteen minutes before the smiling server returned, carrying a plate of food and Alfred's drink. He set it down, careful not to spill anything like he usually did. "The fries are on the house," he said, gesturing towards the unexpected heap of golden fries sitting next to his hamburger.  
Not knowing what to say, Alfred smiled shyly, feeling a little embarrassed. Usually diners in America wouldn't think twice about giving out free food. "Thank you," he finally replied, hoping he wasn't blushing.  
Suddenly he felt a small pang of homesickness. It seemed like a silly thing to be reminded of family by something like receiving free fries, but somehow that is what came to mind. He didn't have any family left, really; just his dad, who was always too busy with the farm and taking care of himself to care about him.

Before the boy could walk away, he called out, "Hey, wait..." He trailed off however, when Matthew looked back at him, slightly startled. Great, now what was he going to say? "Would you mind sitting down... I'm, well," he paused, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. "I'm feeling a little low, to be honest."  
Matthew watched the customer, surprised by his honesty and sudden request. He didn't seem like he was kidding, or trying to pull something. The guy actually did look a little down. Blushing slightly, he nodded, hugging his notepad to his chest as he walked the few steps back to the table. "I can't sit down right now, my boss will fire me. But I'm off in an hour, so if you'll still be here..." He let the sentence speak for itself, trying to ignore how much his cheeks were burning.

Alfred's eyes brightened and he grinned, thankful that he hadn't been blown off. Nodding, he laughed dimly, "I'll be here for the next five hours or so."

_So they went down and they sat on the pier  
He said I bet you got a boyfriend but I don't care  
I got no one to send a letter to  
Would you mind if I sent one back here to you?_

Just an hour and fifteen minutes later, the two had walked a little ways from the diner, down to a small pond. The breeze felt refreshing and Alfred welcomed it against his hot and salty skin. The Coke had helped but as soon as he stepped outside again, he was smothered by the humid air.  
Neither of them had said much during their walk, both not quite sure what to say. They were practically strangers, after all.

Following suit, the American plopped down next to the other, looking out at the sparkling water as he did so. Everything here was so peaceful; it made him wish he could stay a little longer. Glancing over to Matthew, he smiled, slightly amused at the sight. The thin blonde had taken off his shoes and socks and was currently in the process of rolling his black uniform pants up to his knees. After this had been accomplished, his feet met the water, dangling over the side lazily.

"You should try it." Matthew noted, leaning back to rest on the palms of his hands, moving his gaze from the water below to the soldier who had asked him to spend some time. It was strange, whatever _it _was. No-one ever asked him to do anything and yet, here he was, sitting with a complete stranger like they were best friends.

Slowly, Alfred shook his head. "I'm okay..." His eyes fixed on the ground, as if he were suddenly enthralled with picking off the splintering pieces of wood beneath him. "I bet you got a boyfriend or girlfriend, hm?" He said quietly, his tone almost depressed.  
The Canadian was about to say that, actually, he didn't and promptly ask why that was important but he was cut off. "But I don't care."

He looked up from the dock, eyes set with determination and slight desperation. "I know we just met and I know you may not like me at all, but I just have one thing to ask you. It's important." His jaw clenched with a bit of frustration and he looked away again, his Southern American accent becoming more prominent than usual. "Look, I'm goin' off to Vietnam in two days and... well, I 'aint got anyone to send a letter to. I know most people would have thought of this sooner but it just hit me, as I was sitting in that diner. Would... would you mind if I sent one to you?"

Matthews's eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he listened; this guy was asking if he could... write home to him? His cheeks stained pink again but he hardly paid any attention. Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat and cursing himself for being so emotional, he let out a shaky breath.  
"Y-yeah, that would... be okay with me."

They looked at each other at the same time, both a little surprised by the shy boys answer but nothing was said. Matthew offered up a small grin, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach as it was returned with quite a bit more vigour.

They spent the last three or so hours of Alfred's time sitting at the pier, talking and telling each other about their lives. Matthew was in school, attending grade ten and lived with his father Francis while Alfred had already graduated and the day after he turned eighteen was enlisted in the army. Both of their mothers had died, they had lived in the same place their whole life and neither of them had siblings. The only thing they couldn't agree on was food. Matthew preferred pancakes while Alfred insisted that hamburgers were the best.

And now the two found themselves standing about fifty meters from the diner, waiting for the rest of the soldiers to pack their gear into the large military bus. Kicking his feet awkwardly, Matthew stared at the dusty ground, biting his lip silently. Suddenly a hand slipped over his and fingers entwined with his own, enveloping him in comfort. He glanced up, cheeks aflame as he gaped at the taller boy.  
"Hey," Alfred smiled, looking a little forlorn as he stared down at the boy he was holding hands with. "Don't look so sad."  
And Matthew found himself laughing, despite the tears that escaped him.

"Alright soldiers! Let's get a move on!" A threatening looking man barked at his soldiers, climbing onto the bus without another word. Almost all of the other men in green uniforms stood, gathering their things and slinging them over their shoulders before following their commanding officer.  
Alfred watched his fellow men get on the bus, almost feeling a slight sense of panic rise up inside of him. He didn't want to leave. He glanced back at Matthew, surprised to see silent tears streaming down his face. Immediately, he pulled him close, crushing him against his body in a hug. One of his hands laced itself in the boys' hair while the other rest around his waist.

Matthew felt his face flush and he closed his eyes, trying to blink away the tears as to not stain the others uniform. His hands found their way around Alfred, gripping two small fistfuls of the stiff green fabric.  
With a slightly sad expression, Alfred placed two fingers underneath the others chin, tilting his face up towards him before leaning in and pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss. He lingered for only a few moments, keeping the kiss short and sweet. Despite that, it said a lot. It said, "I love you" in a way that didn't need words.

_So the letters came from an army camp__  
__In California then Vietnam__  
__And he told her of his heart__  
__It might be love and all of the things he was so scared of__  
_

And so, Matthew watched Alfred get on that bus, watching it drive away as he felt his heart ache for the love he hadn't had the chance to express. And every night, he would dream the same dream, watching the blonde staring out at him from the bus window with tears in his eyes.  
He stayed hopeful, however, vowing not to let the whole 'war' hype get to him. He had to be strong, have faith. Because Alfred would come home and all would be fine again. Besides, it looked good for the North American army. The news was saying it would be over as soon as it had begun.

When the first letter came, he was lying on his bed, pencil dangling from his mouth as he stared at his blank math sheets. He had heard his father come in downstairs, but ignored it, off in dreamland where he was married to Alfred, smiling happily, sitting on the porch. Maybe even drinking lemona-  
"Matthew!" He father yelled, sounding annoyed as he opened the door, staring at him with a less than pleased expression. The pencil dropped from Matthews mouth as he blinked, pulled from his fantasy by the harsh French accent of his papa, Francis.

"Eh, oh, papa!" He exclaimed, as if he was surprised to see him in the doorway. Sitting up, he brushed a piece of hair from his face, blue eyes looking expectantly at the scruffy blonde haired man he loved so much.  
"This came for you, cheri," his father said, smiling slightly as he dropped a worn looking envelope over top of his homework and left, not asking any questions.

Matthew stared at the letter, silent for a moment as his mind went blank. His first thought was, _Alfred._ Eager hands grabbed at the envelope, staring at it like he had just found the way to heaven. With a messy, hurried scrawl, his name was written across the front, along with the army bases address on the top right corner. With a pounding heart, he slowly turned it over in his hands, caressing the wrinkled back with his fingers. He imagined Alfred doing the same as he sealed it, off somewhere getting ready to fight for his country. Not being able to wait anymore, he tore it open, trying to be as neat as was humanly possible.

He pulled the letter out, unfolding it with shaking hands, his thoughts racing. Taking a deep breath, he read the first line, tears already streaming down his face.

Dear Matthew,  
Well, I wrote ya', didn't I? I said I wouldn't lie. As I was on my way here, I was thinking of what to say. You know, didn't want to sound too cheesy. Things here aren't very different from training camp. To be honest, I feel like I'm not doing much at all. I miss you, Mattie. Alot.  
I think I might love you. Maybe fear makes people realize things faster but in the three weeks I haven't seen you, all I can think about is your smile. I know it sounds so dramatic. But all I know is how much I miss you.  
Tell me everything. How school is. What you do every day. Things that made you smile. I'll read your letters when I feel scared. I'll read them when I miss you. I'll read them before I sleep. Don't forget me, Matt.

The letter ended, leaving Matthew in a comfortable silence. He could almost picture the slightly lopsided grin on the blondes face as he wrote it, probably feeling a little embarrassed to be writing something so mushy. And he could imagine how his eyebrows would furrow in concentration as his words grew serious; as he poured his heart out. He could imagine how the same hand that wrote that letter, held a gun, ready to kill. And he could imagine, with all of his heart, Alfred returning one day. Maybe next week. Maybe next year. It didn't matter. He would always wait, no matter how long it would take for the soldier to come home. To come back to him.

Alfred lied down in the shade he could find, feeling like he was dying under the desert sun. The rest of his buddies were either doing the same, writing letters to their family or gathered in small circles, playing cards. Resting his hands on his stomach, he felt his eyes close, exhaustion taking him over.  
His commanding officer had been training them overtime, pushing each of his men to their limits. Apparently there had been talk that the enemy was planning an attack, nearby their army base. It seemed surreal and Alfred usually chose to ignore the rumours. All the talk was exactly that – talk.

Almost three months had passed since he had left Matthew back in Saskatchewan. They had sent letters almost every week, though sometimes the mailing was delayed, they always managed to connect. Each letter that the timid blonde wrote to him made his day bright with hope and gave him spirit to keep pushing onward. The sooner they got this war done and over with, the sooner he would be able to see Matt again.

"Whatchya thinkin' about?" A familiar voice caused him to open his eyes and he propped himself up on his elbows, squinting through the sun to see one of his close friends, Arthur Kirkland, sitting down beside him with a smile. The British regiment had come and joined with theirs only a week ago and yet, the two had hit it off, talking a lot about their lives and comforting each other when things seemed hopeless.  
Alfred closed his eyes again, shaking his head. "Nothing."

The Brit scoffed, kicking him in the shin hard enough to let him know that he was going to get an answer out of him. "C'mon mate," he prodded, taking a sip of the water canteen around his waist. "You can tell good ol' Arthur anything."

With a wry laugh, Alfred sighed, rubbing his now throbbing shin with a frown. "Fine, fine..." He paused, trying to think of the best way to word what he had been thinking about. "It's about Mattie... again. I think," he hesitated, looking up at the bright sun, squinting slightly. "I think I'm going to ask him to marry me."

The other blonde was silent, looking thoughtful as he stretched his legs out, playing with a few rocks in the sand. "You think that's the best idea?" He questioned, not looking thrilled by the proposition. "It's just; don't take this the wrong way 'cause we're in the same boat, but Alfred... you don't know if you're goin' to be coming home. You can't just ask someone to marry you and set them up for such a... tragedy."

The American shook his head, smiling his lopsided grin as he lied back down, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. "I'm going to write him a letter. And I'll propose that way; when I come back, I'll hand him the letter and give him a cheesy line, maybe throw in a hug or two." He was kidding, for the most part, but that was how things were probably going to turn out.  
"Who knew you were such a romantic?" his friend mused, raising an eyebrow as the two laughed between themselves.

_He said when it's gettin' kinda rough over here,  
I think of that day sitting down at the pier  
I close my eyes and see your pretty smile  
Don't worry but I won't be able to write for awhile_

Four more weeks had passed, all of them agonizingly slow. But every person on their regiment had felt it, a slowly building tension in the air. It thickened the very oxygen they were breathing, made conversations quiet and more macabre... The stench of fear was in the air. All of them could feel it, suffocating them. Making them wait until finally...

"Alfred!" He heard Arthur shout, his voice barely audible over the drone of the enemies aircraft and rounds of bullets being fired. All around him, sounds were threatening to close in on him, drag him into insanity, but Arthur kept him in check. The two of them were crouching behind one of their half destroyed medical bases, trying to avoid the onslaught of gunshots and every so often, a bomb would go off, too close for comfort.  
"We have to get to the others!" The Brit continued his eyes wild with fright as he tugged on Alfred arm, attempting to move him along the edge of their hiding spot.

With a slight nod, he tried to focus, adrenaline rushing through him at just the right moment. All he had to do was run to the base that wasn't damaged. From there, the two could find members of their regiment and finally, receive orders from their commanding officer safely.  
"Lets go!" He agreed, counting silently to two with his fingers before they both ran, legs flying beneath them as they tried to cover ground. Bullets were flying and Alfred felt as if his ears were ringing with the sounds. Everything was muffled, like it was covered in cotton. But suddenly, a sharp and unexpected pain ripped through what felt like the middle of his chest. He slowed, still in shock before he fell to his knees, eyes wide as he frowned.  
_What...? _  
He looked down, horror dawning on his face as his uniform was beginning to stain red with blood, one clean bullet wound through the right side of his chest. A hand came up, holding it with an almost numb sense of dread. His eyes flickered up, in time to catch Arthur turning around, confusion on his face. Opening his mouth to speak, nothing came out, only small trickle of blood trailing down his chin before he fell completely to the ground, feeling lightheaded. A few seconds later, he felt frantic hands on him, turning him around so he was facing the sky as Arthur tried to apply pressure to the wound.

_He sounds far away..._  
His eyes stared into the blue sky, tainted by black streaks of smoke and small flakes of ashes floating around them. That blue. It reminded him of Matthew's eyes. Suddenly, the thought of the boy hurt more than the hole in his chest. His memory flashed back to the day when he met the timid blonde and his smile stood out. In the faltering darkness that was clouding the American's vision, he could clearly see one thing; Matthew - holding his arms out, a look of peace on his face as he waited for him. Arthur's voice was screaming at him to hold on, to stay with him but he couldn't listen... He was fading, into unconsciousness... into Mattie's arms.

The air was buzzing with excitement; all of the students were giving off adrenaline for the game. Matthew sat in the first row with his fellow band mates as they congratulated each other after just playing the national anthem. It had gone well and there had been no mistakes made whatsoever. The blonde was in a perfect mood, lips spread wide in a contented grin.  
He felt almost optimistic and as he had played the anthem, he found himself playing for Alfred... for him to come home. That had encouraged him more than any other motivation he possibly had and he had felt himself swell with happiness as he played each note, almost certain the American could hear it, wherever he was.  
Settling back in his seat comfortably, he waited, wondering when the players were going to come onto the field. Usually he wasn't one for sports, but it might be fun to watch this game.

_One Friday night at a football game  
The lord's prayer said and the anthem sang  
A man said folks would you bow your heads  
For a list of local Vietnam dead  
_

Matthew was barely paying attention as their principal came on the loud speaker at the front of the podium, holding the mic close to his lips as he spoke. It wasn't until the sudden silence of the arena made him look up that he even realized something was wrong. All of the students were staring at the chubby man curiously, wondering why he looked so morose.

"Folks, I am sorry to have to bring up such sad news on an event so important to our school, but I feel like it is a true representation of the North American army..." Matthew's attention perked as he heard the word army, straining to see the balding principal as best he could. "But I'm going to ask you to bow your heads in prayer because tonight, we have received word that three soldiers from our regiment have died in combat."  
The blonde saw the sea of people bow their heads, some folding their hands beneath them and some just looking bored. But his stayed up, now staring at the man with wide, blue eyes.  
_No. It's not him._

Holding his breath, he listened to the soldiers that were called, thoughts racing as two were named.  
_Nicolas Forney.  
Jonah De Vrai._

"And Alfred F. Jones..." Were the last words that left the old man's lips, leaving the auditorium in utter silence as everyone took a moment to respect those who had died.  
But Matthew was staring, un-blinking, un-breathing as the name rang over and over in his mind. His hands began to shake as he looked down, shock keeping him from saying anything.

_Crying all alone under the stands  
Was a piccolo player in the marching band  
And one name read but nobody really cared  
But a pretty little girl with a bow in her hair_

Alfred F. Jones.  
Immediately, the lopsided grin came to the small blondes thoughts and he knew. It was true. It had to be. He could feel it, deep down inside of him that no matter how much he wanted to reject it – it was the truth.  
Standing up abruptly, he pushed past people, ignoring the stares he got as he hid himself in the darkness of the bleachers, curling into a ball after leaning against the cold metal siding. Tears were flowing, hot and salty against his cheeks but he didn't care. All he cared about was the emptiness, the hole, the nothingness that had suddenly overtaken him. His Alfred... He was gone.  
_Gone._  
"Why, why, why, why...?" He cried between sobs and gasps for breath, his voice soft but tortured. It felt like he had been hit in the face and it was hard to breathe, like his heart had been ripped out. Folding in on himself, he let himself cry, wishing Alfred warm arms could be around him... To hold him and take away the sudden numbness he felt.

Days passed slowly for Matthew. He felt like a walking corpse, alive but not present. When people tried to talk to him, he would glance over at them and stare straight through them as he replied, "I'm fine."  
Only nine days had passed since the night he found out Arthur had died. Those were the longest nine days of his life. At first, he tried to go to school, to function normally. But he couldn't concentrate and ended up shutting himself in his room, curled up underneath his blanket.  
On the night of the ninth day, his papa came into his room, sat down and waited. Eventually Matthew had turned around, tears still streaming down his face as he sat up and clung to the scruffy blonde. His father held him until he was done crying, rubbing his back and whispering comforts to him in French.  
When he was certain it was alright for him to bring it up, Francis sighed, staring at his son with a sympathetic expression. "Cheri... The date of his funeral has been set..." He paused, waiting to inspect his sons reaction carefully. When he didn't break down crying, only frowning painfully, the Frenchman continued. "I think you should go."  
The blonde turned, lying back down again with a soft, "Okay."

Two days later, the funeral date had arrived. It was going to be a fairly small service because, despite Alfred being in the military, he didn't win any awards or medals of honour. His father didn't show up for the service, claiming that it was a waste of his time and money to get to the midway point between Alabama and Saskatchewan.

Staring at himself in the mirror on the side of the car door, Matthew grimaced at how pale he looked. He had become a ghost and everyone knew it. Without Alfred, he felt like a cancer patient, each day slower and more painful than the next, making him wish he could have died as well.

Pulled from his thoughts as the car stopped, he got out and followed his father to the cemetery. His blue eyes scanned the area, taking in the blossoming trees and green grass. It all seemed surreal, to think that life could go on; even as he felt so dead.  
Looking at the ground as he walked, he wondered if he would survive this two hour long service. It wasn't open casket, and for that, Mathew was eternally glad. He knew if that had been the case, he would've completely lost it.

As the two sat down, relatively near to the front, the room was completely silent. A preacher came to the front, giving the room a comforting smile. Already, he could tell this was going to be hard. Reaching over, he grasped his papa's hand, eyes staring straight ahead as the service began.

It passed quicker than the blonde had been expecting and now, him and his father were standing, pulling on their jackets in silence. Francis placed a comforting hand on his sons back as they walked out of the chapel, and into the main entrance. A few people were mingling, smiles on their faces and Matthew found himself scowling at them. How could they do that? Talk amongst themselves when something, someone so precious had been ripped from the Earth.

A sudden hand on his shoulder made him jump and turn around, eyes wide. The man who had grabbed him looked apologetic and slightly unsure of himself. "I'm sorry," he said, British accent very prominent. "I don't mean to bother you but are you... Mattie?"

Matt felt himself freeze at the nickname, suddenly reminded of Alfred and the grin he had when he had given it to him. It made his heart ache but slowly, he nodded, holding up a hand as his papa was going to protest.  
The man in front of him smiled weakly, looking as if he was trying to hold his emotions in. The grip on his shoulder tightened, squeezing it firmly as if to say, "It will be okay."

"My name is Arthur. I was Alfred's best friend," he started to explain, his voice soft as green eyes stared down at the slightly bewildered looking boy. "He wanted... He wanted me to give this to you." He finally said, holding out a letter that was wrinkled and slightly torn.  
Eyes widening, Matthew took the letter in his hands, staring at it as tears brimmed and clung to his lower lashes. This... This was another piece of Alfred. Something he had written with his own hands.

"But... don't read it now. Read it later. When you're alone..." Arthur requested, waiting until the blonde nodded to pull him into a crushing hug. At first, Matt tensed, slightly uncomfortable for a few seconds but he relaxed, letting himself be hugged by the stranger.  
They stayed like that for a few moments before letting each other go, both of them sharing the same connection with each other. No words were said as they parted, Matthew leaving once more with his papa and Arthur walking back to join with a few other soldiers who had attended the funeral.

As he buckled himself in, Matthew was silent, staring at the letter with trembling hands. He held it to his chest, clutching it close to him as if it _was _the American. This was the last piece of him he had.

Sitting on his bed, he stared at the letter, as he had been for almost forty minutes since he got home. The wrinkled paper felt worn beneath his fingertips that were gently caressing it, savouring it for as long as he could.  
Taking a deep breath, he turned it over and began to rip it open closing his eyes until he slid his fingers in and felt the paper. The very paper Alfred had written on.  
He unfolded it, quickly scanning the scrawl, messy as always. It looked like every other letter he had been sent but for some reason, the first few lines felt different to read.

With shaking hands, he finished reading that Alfred had written. He was speaking as if they would see each other again; as if he was in a completely different world. For some reason he didn't cry, just set the letter down on his bed beside him.  
"Alfred..." He whispered, pulling his knees to his chest as he thought about what he had just read. He had been asked to marry the American. Briefly, his imagination pictured what their life would've been like together.  
Standing up, he picked up the letter, walking over to the window with a few tears in his eyes. Opening it slowly, he felt the cool breeze brush over his face, calming his beating heart. He could feel the wind, filling his room, fluttering the few papers on his desk and he smiled. Alfred was here.  
And with a sigh of contentment, he held his hands out, letting the letter slip from his hands. He let Alfred go, away with the breeze.

_I cry  
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy  
Too young for him they told her  
Waitin' for the love of a travelin' soldier  
Our love will never end  
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again  
Never more to be alone when the letter said  
A soldier's coming home..._


End file.
